


Your Left Hand's Free and Your Right's in Grip

by gollumthegreat



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, But We Seem to Be Anyway, Guilt, Hopeful Ending, Iron Man Suit Kink, M/M, Smidge Of Angst, We Shouldn't Be Doing This
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 03:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15210221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gollumthegreat/pseuds/gollumthegreat
Summary: “Can you . . . with your hand?” Peter says. “But like, with the . . . you  know.”Tony doesn’t know.





	Your Left Hand's Free and Your Right's in Grip

Tony wakes up in the dark to Peter softly kissing his shoulder, his neck. Peter’s hand is resting against his hip, and Peter is naked and hard, pressed up against his back.

So. They’re here again.

“Sorry,” Peter whispers. Tony hasn’t moved, but Peter must be able to hear he’s awake now, from his breathing and his heartbeat picking up.

“Time?”

Peter doesn’t answer. A soft glow projects the time onto the wall. 4:57 a.m. Tony doesn’t remember what time they left the party. He shuts his eyes again, focusing on the heat of Peter’s body, the way his lips are pressed against Tony’s skin.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Mmm.”

Peter swallows. “Mr. Stark, if this is the last time we’re going to do this . . .”

(Tony has his doubts. They’ve agreed not to do it again . . . three, four times? in the light of day, but somehow they keep ending up here.)

“If this is the last time,” Peter says. “Can I . . . ask for something?”

Tony suppresses the urge to say “Anything.” Honestly, Peter doesn’t need the encouragement.

“Maybe,” he says. “Depends. Are we talking, like, a new pair of sneakers? Or more like a new car? Prototype car? Submersible car?” He pauses. “Flying car?”

“No,” Peter says, sounding flustered. “I mean, something . . . you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tony says. “Still depends, though.”

Peter shifts, pressing closer to Tony. Tony is almost sure it’s not actually a manipulation tactic, but then again, does it really matter why Peter’s doing it, when it’s going to work either way?

“Can you . . . with your hand?” Peter says. “But like, with the . . . you know.”

Tony doesn’t know. “Yeah, I’m gonna need a few more verbs and nouns before I can give you an answer on that.”

Peter groans, sounding half frustrated, half turned on.

“Come on, Pete,” Tony says. “Use your words.”

“It’s . . . embarrassing,” Peter says.

“Hey! Hey,” Tony says, turning over. Peter won’t look him in the eye, staring down at Tony’s chest, at his own hand still pressed against Tony’s hip. Peter thrusts up a little, his cock bumping Tony’s, and he gasps. But that’s a distraction, and Tony knows it. He puts a knuckle under Peter’s chin and nudges him up so they’re eye to eye. “Don’t be. Embarrassed. That’s not . . . it doesn’t have anything to do with us, OK? There’s nothing you need to feel weird about. With me. Does that . . .”

Peter nods, looking wide-eyed and earnest. “I know, Mr. Stark. I know. It’s just, uh. I don’t want to make you feel, um. Objectified? Or. Um.”

Tony blinks. Peter, a teenager, is worried about protecting the emotional integrity of a . . . well, Tony doesn’t even want to try to describe what he is in this scenario, for all the reasons that inevitably result in both of them agreeing _to stop touching each other_ and _stop ending up in bed_ every time they manage to have a conversation about it when they’re not actually already _in_ bed.

“Listen,” he says. “I honestly don’t think there’s anything you can ask for that’s going to make me feel—”

“Can you fi-finger me? With a suit glove on?” Peter blurts out, and Tony’s breath catches.

“Yes. Please,” he says, and now it’s Peter’s turn to look confused.

“Really? You don’t think it’s . . .”

“It’s incredibly fucking hot, as far as I’m concerned, and OK, yeah, it isn’t exactly the manufacturer’s intended use, but I _am_ the manufacturer, so I think we can make, uh, an exception.”

“Yeah?” Peter’s eyes are wide, and his mouth is slightly open, and he’s just generally the picture of youthful excitement. Over the fact that Tony’s agreed to sexually stimulate him with what is, technically, a weapon.

Except . . . that’s never really been the way that Tony thinks of the suits, the tech. It wasn’t just legal loophole bullshit when he told the Senate committee that the suit was a part of him. And sure, he wouldn’t say he’s dependent on any of it the way he used to be. He doesn’t feel raw without it.

But he made it. It’s a part of him—more so, maybe, than his body. He didn’t have any hand in designing his body. But the tech. That’s _him_. It’s his.

And that Peter likes it, _wants it_ , wants to be touched by it. . . it’s maybe not so weird that Tony finds that flattering. And ridiculously arousing.

Tony leans over Peter to the nightstand, being careful to push their bodies together anywhere he can on the way. Peter laughs and wraps his arms around Tony’s waist. Tony grabs the lube from where he threw it—four hours ago? five hours ago?—and next to it . . .

“I could get the actual suit up here,” he says. “But I think this’ll do the trick.” He snags the wristband and then rolls over onto his back, pulling Peter on top of him.

“Hi,” he says, looking up into Peter’s smiling face.

“Hey,” Peter says, poking his tongue out between his teeth in a way that Tony can’t help but find adorable, and rolling his hips.

“Whoa, hey,” says Tony.

“Whoa, what?” Peter says. He sits up, straddling Tony, and then leans back, tilting his head with pleasure.

“Uh, I thought you had a request here.”

“I didn’t think you were actually going to say yes. Can’t I enjoy the anticipation for a sec?”

“Why didn’t you think I would—never mind, not important, do you want to watch me put this on or what?”

“Yeah!” Peter says, and loses all his preternatural grace in his scramble to get his face as close to Tony’s hands as he can. He ends up stretched out on his stomach with his head almost on Tony’s shoulder, gazing avidly at Tony’s fingers as he straps on the wristband. Tony looks over at him and grins.

“Ready?” he says.

“Yeah,” Peter breathes, and Tony taps the pad that activates the metal framework and the metal that covers it, his eyes fixed on Peter’s face and his look of awe and excitement, the sweaty curl of hair on his forehead, the way the light of the mini-repulsor reflects in his eyes.

It’s a good look.

Peter laughs and shifts a little, grinding his hips against the bed. “I love that sound,” he says. “The metal moving like that.”

“Do you?” says Tony, and makes a fist, watching Peter swallow and his eyes widen as the little pieces slide and tighten. “Grab the lube?”

Peter nods and fumbles for the bottle, flicking open the cap.

“Slick it up,” Tony says. He stretches his hand out to Peter. The glove leaves the top half of his fingers bare, and for some reason that’s where Peter starts, dribbling the lube on Tony’s bare skin and then rubbing his own fingers over and between them until they’re wet and shining. Then he squeezes it into the palm of Tony’s hand and spreads it everywhere, paying careful attention to every inch of the metal, especially the knuckles.

Tony doesn’t know where to look. The whole picture is enrapturing. But in the end, he settles on enjoying the look of concentration on Peter’s face. Tony has slept with plenty of beautiful people, and more than a handful of beautiful and intelligent ones. But something about the way Peter thinks, the way he moves—the way his confidence and strength comes out the most when he’s challenged—it takes Tony’s breath away, and the more time he spends around it, the more he wants to.

It’s a fucking problem.

But for right now, he lets himself admire it, drinking in Peter’s enjoyment, feeling like some kind of enjoyment vampire, actually. So sue him, he likes seeing the kid happy. And what makes the kid happy is . . . this. Apparently.

“Is that good?” Peter asks. The whole glove is glistening.

“Guess we’ll find out,” he says. “Believe it or not, I haven’t actually done this before. So if something feels weird, you have to let me know, OK?”

Peter nods quickly. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m pretty sure my body can take, like, just about anything. So—”

“Yeah, that wasn’t a request,” Tony says. “It was a condition. Deal?”

Peter’s staring at the glove. He swallows. “Deal.”

“You sure about this?” Tony says. “We don’t have to if you don’t—”

“I want it,” Peter says, and Tony is taken aback by how raw and desperate his voice sounds all of a sudden. This whole thing between them has been pretty light-hearted, all things considered—banter, teasing . . . flirting, if he’s honest—despite the angst of the situation itself, and how much they both know it really should not be happening. But this feels different.

“OK,” he says. He runs his other hand up the back of Peter’s leg, over his ass, rubbing his thumb into one cheek, and then the other. Peter grinds restlessly down against the bed.

“Please,” he whispers.

Tony rolls over and then kneels on the bed behind him. He nudges Peter’s thighs apart and then presses on the backs of them until they slide forward, knees tucked under, so his ass rises up and he’s spread out in front of Tony, his head resting on his arms. Then Tony reaches out, slowly, and touches. Just one bare fingertip. He can hear Peter’s breath catch, and he’s kind of having trouble with his own. It feels like a _moment_.

Being with Peter is so intense sometimes, it makes him feel like he’s discovering all of it for the first time. But that mindset isn’t going to help him now. What he actually needs is to put his ill-gotten expertise to good use for a change, and make this something amazing and unforgettable for Peter, who deserves so much more than Tony can give him, but should at least get what he asked for.

He eases the first finger in, and even though the metal is thin, not even a sixteenth of an inch higher than his skin, he can see that Peter feels it. He lets out a sound, and pushes back onto Tony’s finger, working himself against and around it in little nudges, teasing himself against the edge of the metal, and then pressing back harder, so Tony’s whole finger slides in as far as it can go.

Peter is hot inside, and the combined sensation of feeling him burning against Tony’s fingertip and squeezing down around the metal covering Tony’s hand is already blowing his mind.

He lets Peter work his finger in and out of himself like that a couple of times, content to let him set the pace. Then, he extends another finger, not pushing inside yet, but resting it next to the other one. Peter pauses for a second. He’s breathing fast already, but as soon as the other finger comes up, he lets out an actual moan.

“Do it,” he says, and Tony does, as gently as he can. Peter’s body opens right up for it, and then he shoves back against Tony’s hand, harder than Tony was expecting.

“You OK?” he says, and Peter nods, gasping.

“I’m good. It’s so good,” he says. “I can _feel_ it.”

Tony feels his cock jerk in response to the tone of Peter’s voice. He’s so turned on right now, he’s aching. He looks down. Seeing himself, something he made, disappearing inside Peter’s body . . . it hits him hard. Without thinking, he spreads his fingers apart, and the sound Peter makes in response to that is unholy.

They find a rhythm, a slow one, Peter doing most of the moving, and Tony just feeling around gently, stretching him a little now and then, but mostly enjoying the sensation and the slick sounds of his fingers stroking Peter from the inside.

His third finger uncurls and presses in almost without him thinking about it, and Peter takes it so smoothly, arching his back, that Tony can’t help but swear.

“I _told_ you,” Peter says, between gasps. Tony can hear the grin in his voice.

“You did,” Tony agrees. He rotates his fingers, teasing Peter with the extra bump of his knuckles, sliding them in and out in shallow strokes. Peter lets him do it for a second, but then he pushes back with a grunt, and takes him all the way in.

“Stay there for a second,” Peter says. “Just . . . stay.” And then he clenches down and moans. Tony curls his fingers, in just the right place, and Peter sobs, releasing the pressure on Tony’s fingers for a second, and then tightening up again.

Tony looks down again, at how desperately Peter is pressing back into his hand, at how much of him is already inside.

“Peter,” he says, and he doesn’t even know what he’s going to say, or how he’s going to say it, but it kind of seems like . . .

“Please,” Peter whispers. “Please, do it, _Tony_ , please . . .” and Tony doesn’t even think, just tucks his pinky and his thumb under and starts to slide in.

Peter cries out and reaches forward to push against the headboard in front of him, burying his face against the bed and lifting his ass up higher.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Tony says. “Holy shit.” He reaches out for the open bottle of lube, and squeezes it onto his knuckles, over his thumb, all the way up to his wrist.

If watching a couple of his fingers work in and out of Peter’s body was mind-blowingly hot, watching him stretch open around almost his entire hand is actually brain-melting.

“Peter,” he says again, and this time, he doesn’t even have anything to say. It’s just what his mouth wants to do.

They’re close. They’re so close. Tony’s slowed down so much, he’s almost not moving anymore. If Peter weren’t so tight around him, he thinks his hand would be shaking.

“Is it too much?” he says. He has to know. He has to know if it’s hurting him.

Peter turns his head against the sheets, his face still pressed into the bed. He’s almost gasping, sweat running down his face, but his body is relaxed.

“Don’t stop,” he says, between breaths. “It’s so much, _it’s good_ , it hurts, don’t stop.”

“You sure?” Tony says.

“Fucking _do it_ ,” Peter says, and oh god, Tony likes that tone, he likes it way too much, and that’s all it takes for him to slide his hand the rest of the way in, nice and easy, fingers curling up into a fist, so he can give Peter what Peter wants.

Peter goes still as Tony’s metal knuckles press inside him. Where before he’d been clenching and grinding back, trying to increase the pressure, now he’s full without even trying. Tony holds still, and the only sound in the room is their breathing.

“Good?” Tony says at last. He needs to _know_ , he needs to make sure.

Peter nods and swallows, like he’s going to say something, but nothing comes out.

Feeling like he’s taking the first step on the moon, Tony pushes his fist slowly forward.

All the breath rushes out of Peter, and he goes absolutely boneless. Tony slides his other hand under Peter’s hip to hold him up, and then he does it again, rubbing his knuckles back and forth against Peter’s sweet spot. He can feel Peter’s stomach muscles tense under his fingers as Peter comes with a gasp and his muscles start to tighten around Tony’s fist again and again, a whole series of spasms, each one driving another pulse out of him until he’s almost sobbing.

Feeling Peter against him, around him, under him, sweaty and shaking, is enough to set Tony off. He leans down as far as he can, running his mouth up Peter’s shoulder, his neck, burying his nose in Peter’s hair and breathing in. He can feel himself coming, jerking hard against his own stomach, and it feels like such an afterthought in comparison to the dizzy satisfaction rushing through him at the thought of Peter overwhelmed and incoherent with pleasure, because of the way Tony touched him.

Peter starts to catch his breath, his body going heavy and relaxed, little shivery aftershocks in his limbs as Tony lowers him down to the bed. He’s so tight now, Tony’s almost afraid to pull out. He goes slow, even slower than before, mesmerized by the sight of the red metal starting to reappear.

Peter makes a small sound, and Tony winces.

“Sorry,” he says.

“No,” Peter says. “Definitely not.”

“I meant—”

“I know.” Peter sighs. “Keep going.”

Tony rubs his thumb against Peter’s hip, trying to comfort, and keeps going, as smooth and steady as he can. Once they’re past the widest part, his fingers straighten out and they both let out a sigh. Peter tightens once more as the metal slides out of him, and then it’s only two of Tony’s bare fingertips left inside.

He needs to see Peter’s face, needs to know—something. He doesn’t even know what he needs to know.

He slips his hand free, and then turns Peter over. He doesn’t miss the way Peter’s eyelids flicker as his ass presses into the bed, but then Peter’s legs come up, his knees holding Tony in place on top of his body, and Peter’s arms are hooked underneath his, pulling him down, with his hands curling over the top of Tony’s shoulders, and they’re cradled together, stomachs, chests, everything pressed together, warm and safe.

“Nice work,” he says, like an idiot, his mouth half buried against Peter’s throat.

“Team effort,” Peter says in his ear. “Thanks for rolling with it.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure.” More so than it should have been, he thinks.

Peter sighs, sounding sleepy. He reaches down and grabs Tony’s hand. Tony deactivates the glove, the metal giving way to Peter’s skin against his. Peter smiles and laces their fingers together, brings them to his mouth and presses a kiss to Tony’s knuckles, looking almost shy.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

“Anytime,” Tony says without thinking, and he means it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not totally caught up on what's happening in the fandom yet, so apologies if this has already been done! But I rewatched that scene in Civil War, and like . . . couldn't stop thinking about it.
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](https://gollumthegreat.tumblr.com/)!


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